


Isn't Hot Chocolate Truly Magical?

by ivywitch (avius)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Australian Holiday, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Grocery Store, HP: EWE, Hot Chocolate, M/M, Post Hogwarts AU, Slow Build, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-08-27 21:53:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8418322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avius/pseuds/ivywitch
Summary: three years after the battle, two boys have all but moved on, yet their lives will collide in the most unexpected of ways. torn between the faded expectations and their new rebellion, hearts will be torn. but hey, isn't hot chocolate truly magical when it comes to rain and tears?
an hp: ewe fic recounting my tale of the next chapter for the most famous war-torn boys // chapters are short but hopefully frequent
wip // (c) ivywitch (sopheg) 2016





	1. neon glow - prologue

Harry’s midnight grocer visit had become what of a comforting routine. The dull neon lights of London grazed his marred skin, slipping from cheekbone to dimple. As his combat boots rounded the third corner of his muscle-memorized journey, a whistle escape his chapped lips in his bliss. His tune filled the gap between his front teeth, the gaps woven between his curls, the gap between his arm and his chest. And as his bones rested in overwhelming familiarity, his mind wandered without fear.


	2. professor harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did Harry find himself wandering the streets of London in the middle of the night?  
> // And as his bones rested in overwhelming familiarity, his mind wandered without fear. //

Upon the conclusion of another school year, Harry had quite excitedly found himself the perfect release. He couldn’t be happier in his position of Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts. It was a profession Harry had always secretly desired but wasn’t encouraged to take until the completion of his eighth year at Hogwarts, as he felt obligated to take the path of an Auror due to his past. He had immensely enjoyed every aspect of his new life, from the curriculum planning to staff room chats, and teaching all students from doe-eyed first years to snarky seventh years. His reputation as the pranking, tea-and-biscuit-offering, always-ready-for-a-chat, “Call me Harry” type of professor certainly sweetened every morning coffee. And yet the year brought its challenges, with every suit of armour and moving staircase flooding Harry with memories, some beautiful and some he’d rather forget. As he shared heartfelt goodbyes with the last few students over their final breakfast for the year, Harry came to the conclusion a holiday for himself was in order. 

Harry, as had become habit over almost a decade of friendship, turned to Hermione for ideas. The only media friendly room within the school, one of the lounges in the staff quarters, was originally a pleasant surprise for Harry, but soon became the location of many a deed (like “Professor Harry, please could you text my Mum to tell her that a wizard boyfriend can’t cause me any harm; I’m a wizard too, I can defend myself!” and “Professor Harry, Dad doesn’t know that I’ll need my broom picked up from Oversized Baggage claim before I arrive and he’s hopeless with my owl!”). It also provided a quicker mode of communication between Harry and his friends, which was useful in situation, not dissimilar to this one. 

"I'm thinking of a London holiday," Harry said suddenly, without as much as a pleasantry. 

"'Hi Hermione, how's work at the ministry going?' Great, Harry thanks for _asking_ ," Hermione's sarcasm was a sharp as ever, even through the phone. Harry rolled his eyes. "I can hear you do that, yknow?"

"Leave him 'lone, Mione, he's been hard at work," Ron chimed in, his voice a little more distant, and Harry almost thanked him. Until, "Busy handing out biscuits I hear," carried down the line, accompanied with howls of laughter.

"Guys," Harry whined, only half meaning it. "Summer rental flat, London? Yes or no?"

Hermione paused before agreeing, mumbling something about needing to get away from Hogwarts. Harry pretended to not hear her. A few keys were typed before Hermione spoke again. "Okay, I'll find you one while you get Minnie's approval."

Harry hit his knee. Of course he'd have to ask permission. He hoped it would not be a repeat of the Hogsmeade trips he was denied back when he attended. Hermione's voice snapped him back, "You did realise you'd have to ask, right Harry?" 

"Yeah, course," he lied. Hermione, as always, saw right through it.

After little deliberation, leave was acquired from McGonagall, the flat was acquired from the landlord and Harry moved in. It was not too expensive, but right in the midst of East London markets and small hidden wizarding communities. _Perfect_.

Well, _almost_ perfect. The change of scenery was a wondrous delight, but for Harry’s insomnia, all it did was ease its job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://www.curiousoph.tumblr.com)


	3. grant, the boy who stocked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> maybe groceries are the best matchmakers  
> // Well, almost perfect. The change of scenery was a wondrous delight, but for Harry’s insomnia, all it did was ease its job. //

His mind whirled suddenly, noting the absence of the lulling swoosh of the chaffing of denim, or the harsh thud of steel cap tow on pavement. Harry lifted his head to see his Co-Op-green-tinted reflection staring back at him.

Through the Perspex pane of the shop front, Grant was smiling perplexedly at Harry. Grant was the cashier on weekdays, and to Harry, charming in every sense of the word, apart from literal wizardry, much to Harry’s disappointment. His shoulders were wide and flat as if they were built for outstretched wings. His nose sloped upward as gently as his voice that echoed down isle three when he asked Harry the pretence of his visit, these past three nights. And his hair was lilac.

"Hey Midnight, what's a boy like you doing in a place like this?" Grant leant against the back of the counter as he chuckled, a boyish grin splitting his face into rough portions.

"I could ask the same to you," Harry continued the routine. It was much easier to entertain pretty boys, and himself, then face the painful reality.

Grant snorted, and Harry felt his eyes on his back as he made his way to the vegetables section. "If I answer you honestly for once, will you answer me back?"

Eyes sifting through the best pick of sweet potato, Harry replied, "Maybe?"

Harry grabbed a sweet potato and some pink ones, a half pumpkin, a few carrots and onions, and a clove of garlic before moving to the cool isle.

Grant was waiting there, restocking the butter and cheeses. Harry smiled at the ease between them, feeling a pulsating comfort washing atop them.

"My strict Vietnamese parents think I need to study until 11pm but I'm trying to save up for a trip to France to see my friends," Grant shrugged, and suddenly Harry didn't feel so comfortable. He noticed that Grant was probably needing just as an escape as he was. Maybe the smell of milk was the uniting string that kept the boys in each of their bodies and not drifting in their minds. Harry took his milk and icecream and flicked his head towards the baked goods.

"I'm sorry about that," Harry said sincerely, trying his hardest not to let his empathetic teacher voice slip through. "That must fucking suck."

Grant huffed a tired laugh through his teeth. "Are you gonna tell me your sob story now?" His head only reached the third shelf, but he leant it against the bread crates anyways.

Harry took a discounted loaf of bread, another bonus of shopping late, and as he placed it in his basket, his hand stilled for a moment.

"Much too sad for a place like this."

A second of silence was allowed before Harry lifted his head to meet Grant's gaze. Harry could tell Grant was trying to calculate the connection to the large lightning-like shatters that crawled across Harry’s face. Frozen for a moment, then broken by laughter, just because, and the boys made their way to the checkout.


	4. typical london

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> London's mix of old and new, grungy and quirky, leads to Harry's reflection on the jeopardy of his identity.
> 
> //Frozen for a moment, then broken by laughter, just because, and the boys made their way to the checkout.//

Harry first felt a spit on his tote bag laden arm. Lifting his head to the foggy grey sky, relatively bright for a night sky, Harry saw the large slate clouds twisting above him. A large droplet fell splat on his nose. Pulling his billowy brown trench closer to him, Harry quickened his step. His dense curls were destined to expand with the moisture, and, not for the first time, Harry was grateful for his summer fresh cut. The neatened sides did make the tip of his ears a little chillier, yet in humidity and storms, having to deal with 50% of his curls is still an ordeal in itself.

  
He was more than tempted to retrieve his wand from his coat, to cast a drying spell, umbrella charm, anything, to keep the rain from drenching his person or groceries. He was in a muggle district, but after midnight he was fairly certain he would not break the Stature of Secrecy. However, Harry was balancing tote bags full of food that he would rather not spilled onto the footpath. Muttering swears under his breath, the clicks of his boots quickened as the downpour's intensity did also.

  
Through the rainy haze, Harry observed the city as his feet lead him home. Tall buildings with slim mirrored windows and neat grey brick stretched high, side by side with quaint terraces and grungy alleyways. Harry marvelled at the mixing pot of cultures and traditions and aesthetics. Harry was in love with the unapologetic mix that was London, and was slowly learning how to transfer this confidence into his own identity.

Harry's adolescence was riddled with many complications. This limited his ability to uncover the unsettling feeling constantly present. The feeling as though he lacked a true belonging in any aspect of himself.  
His childhood was spent equally in the muggle and wizarding worlds, and while he was able to feel comfort within the sanctuary of the wizarding world, his solely muggle upbringing was a time Harry was still unable to detach from.

  
A large part of Harry that was caught in a sense of jeopardy was due to his parents, despite having no memories of them. Both his melanin and blood reflected them equally, and still left him trapped within both worlds. As James' parents were Indian immigrants, and Lily's Anglo-Saxon English, Harry's biracialism presented some boundaries in the muggle world. In hindsight, deep down Harry knew this may have contributed to the abuse he faced as a younger child. In the wizarding world, he was considered biracial too, and while wizarding folk very easily overlooked skin tone, a muggleborn mother and a pureblood father did raise some issues. Since the war, barriers have deteriorated, but the history still remains.

  
Harry was aware of these conflictions, and had been for quite some time. Yet one part of his identity was only recently open for exploration.  
Cho and Ginny are prominent in his mind when he considered his attraction to people, but as allowed himself to freely think about these things, equally so is Cedric. Harry was able to come to terms with his bisexuality only after the war, once things had settled and he and Ginny had decided they were more platonic than anything else. But, on reflection, his feelings hadn't exactly been exclusively straight from about third year onwards.

  
One particular boy may or may not have contributed to this gradual realisation, no matter what Harry was willing to admit.

  
Harry’s reverie shattered as a large pocket of water fell from his collar down the front of his t-shirt, soaking his chest. He shivered, despite the humid air, and stopped in his tracks.

  
"Fucking hell," he exclaimed in a hushed tone as another fell directly into one of his bags. The sealing charm he  casted on them before he ventured out had taken quite a beating and was faulting. Helpless, and without an alcove in sight, Harry could do nothing but wait until a bright idea struck him.

The puddle around his boots lit up, causing him to lift his head in search of the source of the pulsating gold light.

  
"I didn't know you were partial to midnight showers in the middle of muggle London streets, Potter?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait; the end of the school year has been hectic. I'm not overly happy about the flow between backstory and present action, so if you have any constructive feedback I'd be ecstatic to hear it below :) . I'm also open for betas. I should be uploading a little more frequently now btw. My tumblr is curiousoph.


	5. malfoy, the boy who smirked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finds out the stranger isn't as much of a stranger as he thought.
> 
> //"I didn't know you were partial to midnight outdoor showers in the middle of muggle London, Potter?"//

Harry looked up to the small terrace that roofed a large nondescript roller door. The use of his last name stunned Harry, as he was very much sick of the recognition he received outside of his muggle haven. His blood ran cold, and he shifted his hand towards his concealed wand as slowly as he could, straining with the weight of the bags.

The golden light from strangers wand lit up their features. Dark casual pants and a baggy jumper appeared to drown their obviously thin frame. As Harry's gaze reached the stranger's face, he was not shocked by slightly sunken eyes, or the gentle creases accentuated by the concentrated light, or the impossibly pale waves that fell around the forehead and softened their face.  
Harry was shocked upon discovering the stranger was not a stranger at all. He was Draco Fucking Malfoy.

Malfoy's grey eyes glinted with familiar mischief, albeit now worn and tired. A steaming mug of some desirable hot chocolate was in one hand, and a lit wand in the other.

Harry hadn't seen Draco since the infamous Malfoy trials in the summer after the War. He trialled for both Narcissa and Draco, which resulted in a minor sentence of community service. This was far better than the senior Malfoy's sentence to life in Azkaban, but the damage to their family was already done. Harry didn't assist out of pity, unlike what Malfoy was determined was the case, but more out of debt to Narcissa for saving his life. After the trial, he attempted to apologise to Malfoy, for the sixth year incident and for all of the turmoil. However, when Narcissa mouthed 'thank you' from across the room as she embraced her son, Harry took it as his queue to leave.

Then, Malfoy seemed worn and depressed, pale complexion even more sickly white and hair wilted and dull. But now, a little over a year later, he was just a touch more colourful. Colourful, with a raised eyebrow and unimpressed glare. Harry realised he'd been staring, duck his head and shuffling his feet. He'd never quite managed to master the art of subtlety.

"Well are you?" Malfoy persisted, clearly intent on scrutinizing Harry until his embarrassment transformed into mortification.

"Uh-h no, sorry. I, um, what?" Harry spluttered to the pavement. As he stared at his feet, a thought struck through him. Harry was able to conduct a room full of bored teenagers and even an entire staff table with experience many decades his senior. Why was he fucking spluttering in front of Malfoy? When did lose his ability to jab quick comebacks into his side? More importantly, when did he become the reflective and head caught analyser he used to pride himself being the furthest away from?

Glancing up, Malfoy's eyes were still on him, now tapping his foot with the impatience of a second year, "I asked why on earth you were walking in pouring rain in the middle of muggle London."

Rolling his eyes, Harry settled for a mature and informative response.

"I was simply returning from grocery shopping when the sky opened above me." Malfoy took a sip his drink and Harry found his eyes following the movement, pausing at the other's pink and chilled lips. "Rather pleasant after the day we've had, isn't it?"

Malfoy scoffed suddenly, wiping the back of his hand at the hot chocolate threatening to spill from his lips. Harry withdrew a little, and rocked back onto his heels, noticing the easing up of the storm to a mere drizzle.

"Weather," he snorted, shaking his head. Harry began to revert to his usual hostility. _How rude, I'm drenched and he has the audacity to ridicule me, that little shi-_

"Wait Potter, you've misunderstood!" Malfoy stage whispered. Maybe that was a tad harsh. As Harry reluctantly looked up once more, he saw Malfoy leaning against the terrace's balcony, torso practically hanging over the rail. Yet the amused smirk on his face did not falter. "I just meant, of all things to say here, at midnight in London, after not seeing each other for a year, you went with weather."

Harry huffed and half turned around, as Malfoy emitted more noises of protest. If he didn't shut up, Harry was certain his mild concern about using magic in muggle London would fly out the window, along with Malfoy himself.

Fuming, he stomped his foot and turned back.

"Just, it's a bit mundane , don't you think? What's happened to us?" Malfoy's features softened, as did Harry’s. He was right.

"Yeah, I bet little us would be shitting themselves with laughter if they could picture it." Harry wasn't entirely sure where the sentimental burst came from, nor the growing warmth in his chest that blossomed suddenly.  A clap of thunder drew the boys' eyes to the others.

"Shit, sorry, you're still wet, aren't you?" Malfoy muttered sympathetically from his dry safety.

"You don't say," Harry snorted and rolled his eyes, but shuddered as the downpour doubled its ferocity. He was puzzled as to what Malfoy was  thinking, but it didn't take long for clarification.

"Would you like to come in?" Malfoy offered after a moment, raising his voice a little to be heard through the louder rain. The corners of his mouth lifted, despite the onslaught of rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry i wrote this about a month ago and yet here we are! and I know my chapters are super short but I swear I'm trying to lengthen them, I'm just so passionate about the plot that I keep forgetting to flesh it out enough ooops. as always, betas are welcome and my tumblr is curiousoph. happy new year!


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